


Vielen Dank, Bruder.

by SansSoucis



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Relationship, Dark fic, Just complicated emotions, Ludwig is a convinced Nazi, Mentions of Adolf Hitler, Nazi ideology, Nazi!Germany, Other, Set somewhere between 1933 and 1939, Slight Violence, Smoking, There is no fluffy brotherly love, WWII, historical fic, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansSoucis/pseuds/SansSoucis
Summary: It has only been 60 years since Gilbert held a tiny, red, crying creature in his arms and now, at the eve of yet another war, a fully grown Aryan Adonis/killing machine stands before him."Herr Hitler should be glad that he has me, who gifts him resistance. He shouldn't need another puppet, he's got more than enough. Just look below." Sometimes, Gilbert wonders how far he can go. How many times he can say such things before Ludwig snaps, snaps even more than he already has. How many insults would it take before Ludwig wrapped those big hands around his neck and wrung the life out of him.





	Vielen Dank, Bruder.

Gilbert closes his eyes, his footsteps hollow in the otherwise empty building. The loud cheers of the people down in the street hurt his ears. He snatches the black officers cap off his head, running a hand through his hear in distress. Fuck, he really needed a smoke. Digging around in the jacket of his uniform with one hand, he finds a squashed packet of cigarettes, one already between his lips as he opens the door to his office. He nearly drops cap and lighter as he spots the broad figure in front of the opened window.

"Thought you'd be down there with _him_."

Ludwig, clad in the same black SS uniform, sits on the window still, watching the parade below, marvelling at the sound of thousands of feet thundering past. Behind him, Gilbert can spot the red flags hanging from the buildings on the other side of the street, streaking the concrete like blood.

"I prefer to watch from above. The view truly is magnificent." Ludwig says, never everting his gaze from the passing soldiers, their bands bright red and proudly contrasting against the dull grey and green of their uniforms. His relaxed pose has tensed up considerably ever since he’s noted Gilbert presence.

"But I suppose you're out here for other reasons?" It’s not a question, it’s an accusation. Gilbert doesn’t need to see his brother’s face to know that’s true, the cool tone of his voice is enough.

"I wanted to smoke a fag in peace but since you’re here I'll go" He snarls, waving the cigarette at Ludwig even though he can’t see it, slightly annoyed at the paranoia of the Great Third Reich. "Wouldn't want to disturb this little self-appreciation party you've got going on."

Ludwig turns his head, slowly, as if regretting having to tear his eyes away from the parade, a tight-lipped smile on his face that manages to seem smug all the same. "You know, _Preussen_. I never thought of you as a person who'd hide, you being as.. _flashy_ as you are. It's curious."

It’s easy enough, riling Gilbert up by poking at his pride, his love of being seen. Ludwig knows that all too well, it used to be beneath his level, but nowadays, when Gilbert finds himself receiving swastika-ashtrays at every event he attends, he isn’t sure _what_ is indeed Ludwig’s level.

_Ludwig’s delusional,_ he has to keep telling himself to prevent himself from pushing the person he calls his brother out of any random window, underneath any car, off of any bridge. _A child. It’s a phase. It’ll pass._ He wouldn’t even let a dimwit call him a coward though.

"You think I'm _scared_ , Ludwig? You think it's _fear_ , that causes me to be here instead of kissing the boots of our dear führer?" He spits at him, blood creeping into his pale cheeks.

The corners of Ludwig mouth tilt up a little more, a warning. His eyes are bright and cold in the shadows that play over his face.  "I _don't know_ , Gilbert. I do certainly hope so. I hope you've not decided to come because you _fea_ r that your mouth isn't worthy of his shoes. While it is very much cowardly, your motive being anything other than fear and awe of _our Fuhrer-“_ He quickly runs his hand over the red band on his bicep “-would be.. _questionable_..to say the least."

"Don't you dare compare my worth to that of some Austrian mortal-" Gilbert snarls heatedly, ready do dive headfirst into another argument, the only thing they seem to share these days.

 Ludwig is quick to cut him off, however. "-We _cannot_ allow that, Preussen. In these times where the future of our country is unclear and a strong unified will of the people is needed, we don't need more doubt. Or _resistance_ , for that matter." His voice is dripping with thinly-veiled threats, and it sickens Gilbert.

"Herr Hitler should be glad that he has me, who gifts him resistance. He shouldn't need another puppet, he's got more than enough. Just look below." Sometimes, Gilbert wonders how far he can go. How many times he can say such things before Ludwig snaps, snaps even more than he already has. How many insults would it take before Ludwig wrapped those big hands around his neck and wrung the life out of him.

A nation came back after death, of course, but Ludwig was tiny, red and crying in his arms a mere 50 years ago and now a grown Aryan Adonis/killing machine stands before him, representing all of Germany, his own lands included, so he honestly shouldn’t take too many risks.

Ludwig chooses to ignore at least half of what he says, instead turning to the crowds below. The grin that plays around his lips is real this time, pure, undefiled, boyish, happiness contrasting horrendously with his black cap and jacket and the Swastika on his arm.

"I know, isn't it great? All of them. All Germans. United by one man." He nearly purrs the words, lovingly. 

"Not the ones rolling around in their own shit in Dachau." Gilbert says harshly, laughing at his brother, a dumb teenager in love. Ludwig laughs too, though supposedly for other reasons.

"The ones that _count_ , then. Look at them, Gilbert. Look at them go. It is truly magnificent. I can feel their joy, their strength, their _love_ for me. And it's all because of _him_." Despite the large SS cap he is wearing, the sun still falls across Ludwig’s face, and he bathes in it, leaning out the window, revelling in his very own golden bath of glory.

"A hoard of sheep, marching blindly towards wherever he says they have to go, even if it's the slaughterhouse." Gilbert mutters, finally lighting his abandoned cigarette, walking towards the window to sit next to his brother. Ludwig eyes the twirling smoke with a disapproving gaze, a mother scolding her child, but otherwise ignores it

"And he is a good shepherd. He'll protect them, give them glory and triumph. My triumph."

Sometimes, on lonely drunken nights, Gilbert theorises that Ludwig not responding to every anti-Reich remark he makes is his own fucked-up way of showing he cares. That he cares enough about his brother to not immediately lock him up in Dachau for all the “Untermensch propaganda” that he spouts. He hopes it’s just that, but Ludwig is probably too caught up In his own euphoria to notice Gilbert’s spiteful comments.

"Adolf Hitler will grant me, us, with the greatness I deserve.” Ludwig takes the hat from his hands, his large fingers flattening Gilbert’s unruly silver bush of hair before he places it upon his head as if it were a crown.

“We will march. To Poland. To Denmark. To France. To England. I'll conquer them mercilessly, let them revel in the bitter taste of their well-earned defeat and let them choke on it." Gilbert can hear the rough smirk in his voice, his desire to fight, his lust for revenge; his words are soaked in it.

It reminds him of his own bloodthirsty nation, the love for battles and warfare he used to bear before he found himself in a no man’s land in Belgium while bullets whistled around his ears and his fellow men collapsed all around him.

He nods curtly before taking another drag of his cigarette. Ludwig puts his gloved hand on Gilbert’s wrist, a quick gesture of affection that makes Gilbert look at him in surprise.

"Or..Maybe I should let France choke on something even harder to swallow."

Though it’s just a boyish joke, something Ludwig attempts to do at times in order to reconnect with his brother, the smug tightening of his mouth and the hardening of his eyes in pure _hatred_ , make even Gilbert feel sorry for the country on the other side of Elzas-Lotharingen.

"If I were you, I'd save your perverted fantasies for after your beloved Adolf has proven that he is indeed capable of conquering the bastard." Gilbert shrugs, flicking his cigarette, watching as the ashes float out of the window, raining over thousands and thousands of heads, thousands of hearts that all beat for Germany, the fatherland.

Ludwig’s eyes darken considerably as he plucks the cigarette from Gilberts hands and crushes it underneath his polished boot in a display of power.

"Honestly Preussen, you should put more of your trust in our Fuhrer. Or me, for that matter. Do you not deem me...capable?" He says smoothly, politely, but the way he balls his gloved fists betrays him.

"I never said anything of the sort, brother mine. You're strong and your spirit could cut through stone. But you're also young, very young. And the last war.."  Gilbert says slowly, defensively, failing to mask his concern completely.

"Well, I _survived_ , didn't I?” Ludwig spits, and Gilbert winces involuntarily. “I am _still_ here, unbroken, just like the spirit of the people! This time, with the _excellent_ leadership and guidance of _der Fuhrer_ , the German people will rise and conquer!"

_And you should count yourself lucky that you still are. Alive, I mean. And now you’re going to try and throw it away all over again,_ Gilbert thought glumly.

"I in fact do think Europe will do all in its might to prevent the same fanatical _infant_ country from thundering through their lands for the second time." Gilbert’s voice was a little more toxic than he would’ve liked.

Ludwig’s eyes widen in surprise at first, then he smiles. It’s a smile of mockery, a smile of ridicule, a smile of disbelief. Sometimes Gilbert wondered if Ludwig actually was aware of the proper use of a smile, _happiness_. Then again, who says Ludwig has ever known anything like it? _Happiness?_

"So _that's_ what this is about then, your curious behaviour!” He says, sounding strangely delighted, standing up to tower over his brother.

‘”You're just jealous of me, jealous that I, an infant country, as you charmingly put it, have risen to power while you've been fading!”

For a delusional Austrian-worshipping country, Ludwig still manages to hurt him pretty well. Ludwig’s smile broadens even more at the look of rage that crosses Gilbert’s face.

 Well, I'm _so_ sorry Preussen, but you're a part of me now, a strong unified Germany that has risen to glory again after the horrors inflicted upon it in the Treaty of Versailles." He laughs, barely able to contain his joy at the idea of Gilbert, his big brother, being jealous of him.

"Don't get all high and mighty just because you're Adolf’s favourite toy- _ah!_ ” Gilbert’s growl turns into a howl as Ludwig slaps him across the face.

"You really don’t get it, _do_ _you_ , Gilbert?” Ludwig has leaned forward, he’s close now. His eyes sparkle with fury, pride and something that can only be described as _madness._

“I was born between Versailles’ golden walls, passed around the gloved hands of the noble men, their uniforms made out of the finest materials, spun gold across their chests, the new-born child of the Kaiser Reich. Forty years later I’m in a muddy ditch, aircrafts roaring above me, firing bullets until my fingers bleed and my feet rot in my soppy boots.”

The remains of unprocessed traumas of the Great War flash over his face and for a moment Gilbert feels sorry, _truly_ feels sorry for the child that had a rifle pushed into his hand and then was forced to watch all of his newly unified population suffer.

Ludwig chuckles, the chuckle of a madman, his breath smelling ominously like _death_ on Gilbert’s face and Gilbert feels his stomach churn with hatred again.

“Times have _changed,_ Preussen. You won’t get the chance to prance around the battlefield in your uniform and your feathered hat, instead you’ll have to watch as the blood and guts of your enemies drip all over the floor while a machine gun jerks in your arms.”  He says the words as gently as a lover would, fully knowing that this is where he can hit Gilbert the hardest.

“You look like you enjoy the thought of it, this new warfare, this unnecessary bloodshed. Isn’t that a waste of _fine_ Aryan blood?”  Gilbert pants, forcing himself to look into the eyes that now look like hell frozen over, trying to find something human, something _Ludwig_.

“They’d do it for _me_ , Gilbert.” Ludwig looks amazed at the thought. “ **_Die_**.”

There’s that same childlike happiness again, so unfit on the face of a young man. “ They would die for their country, allow their blood to soak into the earth of all of Europe, because they _love_ me.”

“ _Deutschland!_ ” Gilbert shouts, horrified, but Ludwig ignores him, gazing fondly at the crowds below.  

“Don’t you understand?” He whispers softly, one hand on Gilbert’s shoulder, a casual reminder that he could just _push_ , and let Gilbert be trampled underneath the feet of his lovers, his followers, his worshippers  “It won’t be like before, with treaty’s and trumpets and lace cuffs. It will just be me and my people, my _Germans_.”

He curls his fingers around Gilbert’s chin, forcing him to look up at his little brother.  “And you know what? You should _thank_ me.” He croons cruelly, eyes alight with venom.

 “On your bare hands and knees, you should. You’re nothing but a shadow of the past. Of times where the German people fought against one another for their petty ‘leaders’ who did nothing but sit around in their castles all day, painting pictures and collecting the peasants’ money.”

He allows himself to show the tiniest flinch when Gilbert roughly slaps his hand away, snarling up at him.

“Oh shut your fucking mouth, you _child_. You know nothing of me, _Preussen_ , and my glorious history.”

Ludwig recovers quickly. “A history of suppressing your own people, yes.”

Gilbert’s fist is fast like lightening. Ludwig lets out an animalistic grunt, doubling over, clutching his nose.

“OH!? BECAUSE THE GERMAN PEOPLE ARE SO HAPPY NOW! STARVING. POOR. RUINED BECAUSE YOU DECIDED TO RUTHLESSLY THROW US ALL INTO THE MOST USELESS WAR THAT HAS EVER TAKEN PLACE ON THIS CONTINENT!” Gilbert screams until his throat is raw, rising from his seat to push his brother away from him.

Ludwig steps away, hands covering his face, silent. No snarling, no crying, no strangling. Just silence, horrible _horrible_ silence. For a moment, his younger brother looks broken, defeated.

“ _Ludwig?_ ” Gilbert says in a tiny voice, barely betraying his concern. “ _Bist du in Ordnung?_ ’

His brother raises his head. Blood drips over his nose and lips, yet his eyes are ablaze with a spiteful fire Gilbert had only seen on the battlefield before.

“ _Ruined_ by the treaty of Versailles, you mean.” He spits, walking slowly towards Gilbert, footsteps heavy and dangerous on the wooden floor. “ That has been UNRIGHTFULLY inflicted upon me by my own government and the Allied scum, they were out to ruin me and only ME, because they couldn’t stand how POWERFUL THIS ‘CHILD’ HAS BECOME!” His face is twisted in rage, he looks like he is grasping at the last straws of sanity.

“The treaty had to be signed. We would have been destroyed otherwise, and who knows what would’ve been left of you then.” Gilbert speaks slowly, gently even, extending his hands towards Ludwig in a gesture that could be seen as conciliatory.

If only they had been humans. They could’ve just hugged, told each other: _“I’m sorry. I forgive you.”_   And they could've moved on with their mortal lives. But Gilbert feels his country crumbling around him, seeing himself fade just a little bit more every day. He also knows that while Ludwig's spirit gets lifted by those proud blonde German's enthousiastically raising their right arms to salute his führer, the pain of the 'other' Germans he tries so hard to ignore causes him to avoid any possible reflective surface.

“You would have lost the war anyway, Ludwig, surely you can face that now. You’re too old for fairy tales, even if it’s _Herr_ _Hitler_ , who tells them very convincingly.”

Ludwig is furious now, clenching and unclenching his jaw, eyes narrowed to slits. When his hand darts out in Gilbert’s direction, Gilbert thinks it is to strike him again, preparing for the blow. He can’t help but gasp in surprise as a hand closes around his throat instead, pushing him against the window frame.

The noise of the parade is even more audible now that his upper half dangles out the window. The ceramic window still digs painfully into the back of his knees. His cap falls off of his head, disappearing into the masses below.

“I think you’re the one who believes in fairy tales, _brother mine._ ” Ludwig hisses, ignoring the way Gilbert hyperventilates, how his hands scratch at his fists.  “Fairy tales of _Kaisers_ and castles, where the mighty _Prussia_ rules over all of the German lands. But let me tell you something; _you’re done._ Even your own chancellor wanted me to exist, he was the very reason I was born. So what does that say about how ‘ _your_ ’ people feel about you, Preussen, _hm_?”  

He tightens his grip. A cool breeze strokes Gilbert’s face, he feels dizzy. Ludwig’s face fades in and out of vision, blurring, darkening. It almost looks demonic.

“Finally you’ve got a face that truly suits your mind, _Bruder_.” Gilbert chokes out. The crowds below chant and roar, as if agreeing with his words. Ludwig simply laughs at his stupidity.

When he speaks again, it’s in hot pants on his ear and neck.

“It won’t be like before. Even after our _Führer_ , I will continue to exist. I, the Third Reich, will tread in the footsteps of the Holy Roman Empire, and you’ll forever remain within _me_.”

Gilbert coughs as he is roughly pulled inside and unceremoniously dropped on the wooden floor, hot tears stinging in his eyes. Ludwig’s polished boots come into view. He looks up at the Third Reich/Germany/Ludwig/his baby _brother_ , copper coloured stains on his top lip and a scowl that could set villages on fire. 

Ludwig smiles then, softly, _cruelly_ , planting his boot on Gilbert’s face , watching as he sprawls back, triumphant. Gilbert lets him. He presses his foot to Gilbert's lips.

 “Thank me, Gilbert, for I have decided to allow you the honour of wearing my flag, to let you share in the wealth and glory of _das Reich_ , even though you should be rotting beneath the ground along with all that remains of your princes, kings and Kaisers, your honour, my dear _Untermensch Bruder_.”

Gilbert slowly brings his shaky hands up, running them over the leather-clother ankle and kisses, as gently as he can muster for his little brother, his _Ludwig_ , the cheers of the last passing soldiers dying down in the streets below.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bist du in Ordnung? - Are you okay?
> 
> Dachau - Dachau (1933) was the first ever Nazi concentration camp; originally only opponents to Hitler's ideology and regime were sent there.
> 
> The Treaty of Versailles: A treaty that was signed after WWI in which Germany was forced to pay loads of money to the allied countries along with some other economic and military restrictions. A lot of German people saw this as the ultimate humiliation.
> 
> Even your chancellor wanted me to exist - Otto von Bismarck was a Prussian chancellor who was a strong supporter of a unified Germany, going as far to cause a war between France and the German states to force them to unite.
> 
> I'd explain the relationship between the two German brothers in this particular time period as follows: Germany hasn't been around for too long, but his short history is horrible. He was born because of a war (The Franco-Prussian war 1871) and he was forced to grow up very quickly because of WWI. Basically he has known nothing but pain and horror and is starving for change, which explains why he is so eager to support Adolf Hitler, he finally wants to be glorious, for once.
> 
> I see Prussia as more of a conservative, I like to imagine that he wants to return to the old times, the Kaiserreich perhaps or even before that, when Germany was just a bunch of states. In those time the nobility ruled and Prussia was the most important state of all. 
> 
> I'd like to think Germany and the Nazi ideology scare Gilbert a little, because he knows his own glory has been fading while his brother is finally a succesfull country even though mental health suffers greatly because of it. 
> 
> I think Ludwig feels slightly betrayed, because Gilbert is not enthousiastically supporting his new boss, and his big brother not supporting him hurts him more than he will admit. 
> 
> Gilbert is both scared to lose himself and to lose the old Ludwig to the Third Reich. Ludwig is scared Gilbert will turn against him and leave him.


End file.
